


Feed the Madness

by Robin4



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Torture, Spoilers through 3.14 the Tower, the Dark One's dagger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1327972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin4/pseuds/Robin4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cages have always driven him a little mad. His curse doesn't like being hemmed in like this.</p><p>Following Rumplestiltskin through season 3B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Witch Hunt

Cages have always driven him a little mad. His curse doesn't like being hemmed in like this.

The last one he could have walked out of at any time. That made the madness a little easier to manage; he could usually draw the line between real insanity and play-acting. Crawling on the ceiling was more of a choice than a necessity; Rumplestiltskin usually could stop himself if he cared to, though he'd rarely bothered to try. But oh, no. Not this time. Not while she has him trapped and cornered, and hurts him and plays with him like he's a toy. Not this time. Not in Storybrooke and not elsewhere, but at least here in the Land Without Magic the visions of future puzzle pieces don't uncontrollably drive him over the edge. No, that was last time.

This time is still worse. She has the dagger, and he doesn't want to think of all the reasons he has to go mad. If he does, he'll be even worse off than he is.

_You feed the madness, and it feeds on you._

He's never been so trapped. Never like this. Not in that dwarf-made, fairy-enchanted cage, waiting for the curse. Not as a poor spinner, unable to save his son. Never like this. Zelena doesn't _need_ a cage, doesn't need this tiny construction of cobweb-covered mesh. She's got a better way to hold him, the only way to hold him, and his soul is caged far more thoroughly than his body. Trapped and helpless, obedient to her wishes and unable to resist.

It's terrifying, being caged like this. There's a lesson in it, Rumplestiltskin is sure: don't try to play the hero. Villains don't get _happy endings_ , and they don't earn peace, either. He'd been a fool to hope for something else. Of course, he actually had expected to die, despite the myriad of tricks he always has up his sleeve. Maybe he'd wanted to, for all that survival is a nasty habit he perfected centuries earlier. Perhaps he'd just wanted to do something _right_ for a change, for once, to shove the fact that he, too, could make a sacrifice, right in their too-good faces. That yes, Rumplestiltskin could love despite the darkness owning his soul, and he could make something worthwhile out of that.

Now there's only darkness. Zelena leaves him in the dark, leaves him in this hole of hers, as if it will somehow bother him. But the lack of light can't compete with the darkness staining his soul. It never has been able to. He's the _Dark One_ , despite his best efforts to be something better, and the nature of his curse has never been so clear. He's been a fool, fighting it for so long, wanting to love and be loved. He's not a man—he's a monster, and it's time he remembered that.

 _Don't think about them._ Thinking about the two people who mean more to him than even his own darkness will only further feed the madness. _Don't think—_

The giggle escapes, as pained as it is insane. He's trying not to think, trying not to remember. It hurts too much, being here. Remembering. _You never should have brought me back._ Everything he once was is now nothing. He's caged and he's helpless, and his old student has the dagger with which to enact her revenge. She holds his soul in her hands. Shredded and tattered though it is, it's _his_ soul, and Rumplestiltskin has protected it jealously for his entire ill-begotten life.

Not now. Now it's hers to abuse as she pleases, and Zelena knows enough to know what she's doing. It's amazing what pain the dagger allows you to inflict without leaving a mark, without the nuisance of leaving evidence or blood behind. She can leave him reeling, screaming, without so much as physically harming him, or even touching him, but it's a worse torture than anything physical she could devise. That was the one thing he'd never known about the dagger, though Zelena figured it out quickly enough. And she uses that to leave him shaking and screaming when she worries that he might be too coherent, too prone to outsmarting her and sidestepping through the inevitable loophole he's found.

Loopholes or no—and there aren't enough of them to salvage his soul—he's caged. Trapped. Terrified. His curse hates it as much as Rumplestiltskin does, and he can feel what little sanity he possesses fracturing. The confinement would do the trick nicely by itself, but Zelena's clever enough to combine it with pain. His inability to resist her—she _has the dagger_ —would be frightening enough if he wasn't left spasming every time the Witch so much as tapped the dagger with a sharp nail. Yet that doesn't leave a mark, at least not one anyone can see. It only rips holes in his already battered soul, tears into what little of Rumplestiltskin is left under the Dark One, and he wants to shrink away from her, but thinks she'll believe him more mad if he doesn't.

Zoso's last master was either careless or a fool. Zelena is neither, but he'll make her both if he can. He'll hide his soul under the madness, hide himself inside the imp she expects to see. She's never known him any other way, and was more than a little startled by the very human face he's wearing. _His_ face, truly, for all that he's still the Dark One. But that little shred of humanity must be hidden, must be protected at all costs. It's all he has, and he's inches away from letting the madness take that away from him.

But Rumplestiltskin is well-acquainted with madness. It's fed on him before; he'll weather the storm. He always has. Caged or no, hurt, broken, and empty though he is, he's a survivor. He _survived_ , again, and he'll outlast her. He must. There are reasons to, reasons he dares not think of. But he has reasons to survive. Reasons to bury what little sanity he has beneath the outward pain and sing-song-y madness, reasons to let it feed on him and let her _see_. Let Zelena see what she expects, let her watch and make her not wonder.

He's warned her. He has. Whether or not she listens might determine if she lives or dies.

_Feed the madness, and it feeds on you._


	2. The Tower

_Spinning.  Cleans the mind, soothes the soul._  

She gave him a wheel because she thinks he’s going mad.  Silly Cora’s daughter; the madness came centuries ago, came with his curse.  He tells her of the voices in his head, taunting her, daring her, and yet she never listens.  Never heeds his warnings.  Oh, the madness is closer to the surface now—this cage feeds it, as does Zelena—but the madness has always been there.  And like before, he can find windows of sanity within the lunacy.  Rumplestiltskin is an expert on his own madness. 

Let me spin, he tells her. Spin the madness away.  Because he doesn’t want her to know that he can do it without the wheel.  He knows what she wants, now, or at least has a guess.  Zelena’s trying to play a long game, trying to best her old mentor, but she’s not as subtle as she thinks she is. 

She doesn’t have to be, though.  _“The only one that can do the hurting here is me,”_ she tells him, and she is so right.  Rumplestiltskin draws back from her immediately, his hands raised defensively and eyes fastened on the dagger.  He _is_ a slave to that dagger, and to her.  The words burn—he hates them as he’s never hated anything else—but they are true.  Unlike so many of his predecessors, Rumplestiltskin has never _ever_ allowed that dagger to fall into another’s hands.  Until now, and the control it has over him is terrifying. 

 _Sit,_ she says, and the command burns in.  His body obeys almost before he can process the word.  _Come closer_ , and he does, leaning forward awkwardly and unable to pull away once she tells him to _stay still._   Pain reverberates through Rumplestiltskin with every command, as if the curse itself is almost daring him to resist.  It can only get worse, he knows.  Zelena has already forbidden him to use magic without an express command from her while inside the cage, and although he can feel the darkness singing in his veins, the dark voice whispering in his mind, he can do nothing to appease either.  Not while Zelena holds the dagger. 

Rumplestiltskin has never counted himself an especially brave man, not even when he put his soul on the line to kill Pan, to save those he loves.  He was terrified then and he’s terrified now, but this is _different._ Now it’s his own magic that frightens him, cages him, hurts him.  Zelena shaves him with the dagger, but it’s not the worst she’s done.  Not even when she nicks him with the blade—quite intentionally, he’s sure—and acid boils through his veins.  That’s new.  A new aspect of the curse of which he was unaware, the effect of the dagger on him.  It can kill him in one very specific way, but it can _hurt_ far more than any other blade.  Pain rears up from the slight wound, disproportionate and burning hot.  He struggles to hide that, to keep that advantage out of her hands, by showing her more sanity than he has dared to before.  Hopefully that will distract her. 

It does.  For now.  But it doesn’t stop her from coming back down to the cellar less than an hour later, smiling like she’s stolen something.  There’s something he’s missing, but she doesn’t give him time to puzzle it out behind the madness he both feels and feigns.  Zelena doesn’t _quite_ want him insane, but she doesn’t want him thinking too much, either—it’s always his students who appreciate the fact that his mind is as dangerous as his power.  Perhaps he showed her too much, back in the days when he thought this daughter of Cora’s might prove what he needed.  But now Zelena wants to send him reeling, wants to unhinge him just enough.  

And she probably wants to prove her power over him, both to herself and to Rumplestiltskin.  Power’s the most addictive drug, he knows, though Zelena has always enjoyed _hurting_ people more than he.  Perhaps he’s been hurt too much in his life to completely understand the allure.  Killing—yes, that he can do.  Fooling, manipulating, and taunting are the tricks of his trade.  Desperation, he taught her long ago, makes the most powerful magic.  So now she wants to make him desperate, and Zelena’s nature tells her there is only one way to do that. 

He rises warily as she mocks him, only half listening to her words.  “Worried, Rumple?” Zelena asks, the dagger held close to her chest.  His eyes are fastened on it, fasted on the thing that can hurt him most.  Rumplestiltskin knows now that she won’t kill him, though he had half hoped she would.  “Worried that I might _hurt_ you?” 

He is not worried.  He knows she will. 

Silence is a form of madness all of its own, and he maintains it, dark eyes glaring at her while dark magic dances within him.  The voice inside him matches his own feelings for once, screaming for revenge and for blood.  Their gazes meet for a long moment, and he can feel Zelena measuring him.  Wondering.  Judging. 

“Feed the madness and it feeds on you,” Rumplestiltskin warns her, quietly.  But he puts a bit of song behind the words, just for camouflage.  This is the best warning he can give her.  _All magic comes at a price._   She should know that.  Zelena, however, simply takes it as a sign of madness, and her smile grows. 

She flicks the dagger towards him, and Rumplestiltskin flinches despite himself.  Then Zelena taps it hard with one long nail, and the _tink_ of the two making contact vibrates through his skull, making Rumplestiltskin stagger backwards and gasp in pain.  His shoulders hit the mesh side of the cage and he slumps against it, hands flapping uselessly in front of himself to somehow ward her off.  As if he could ever defend himself against the person who has the dagger.  The most terrifying thing about his all-powerful curse is the way that the dagger controls him. Rumplestiltskin can feel the invisible bands of power binding him to it, can feel the way the slightest movement of the dagger can manipulate him like a puppet. 

“Stand up straight,” she purrs, sweeping towards him like a predator intent on her prey.  And Zelena is a predator, one who’s always enjoyed hurting others.  It’s in her nature. 

His body responds, but his back is still against the side of the cage.  This is not the first time Zelena has come for this purpose, not the first time she’s told herself that hurting him has a purpose.  And perhaps it does.  She wants him unhinged enough that he can’t outthink her. The dagger comes up to his throat again, and Rumplestiltskin’s chin comes up instinctively.  Even contact with the dagger is uncomfortable when someone else is holding it. 

“Stay standing,” Zelena orders, and he can tell that she enjoys the control over him.  One of these days, Zelena’s delight in commanding him is going to lead her to go further than just hurting him, and Rumplestiltskin is not so mad that he doesn’t fear what will happen.  He cannot resist her—is utterly incapable of it; his mind shuts down and pain rips through him if he tries, and his body _still_ obeys her commands—and his soul is already in tatters.  If she forces herself upon him, what little there is of his sanity is likely to shatter. 

She’s smiling again, and Rumplestiltskin knows what that means. But knowing the blow is coming does not help him brace himself; her hand comes down hard on the dagger, slapping the blade, and it twangs.  The quiet sound fills the cage, and his body convulses. 

A pained gasp rips out of him, and the second slap to the dagger turns it into a scream.  His knees buckle, but they support him, anyway—the command was to stand, and stand the curse will make him do.  His head is pounding so hard that it drowns the voice of his curse out, drowns out the demands for revenge and darkness.  His vision blurs as his hands come up instinctively, trying to shield himself somehow, but Zelena laughs softly. 

“Hands at your sides.” 

They snap down, yanked by invisible threads of power, and Rumplestiltskin hisses in frustration and pain, and not just a little fear.  The dagger is still near his throat, and Zelena is so close that he can feel her breath on his face.  Then her smile grows, and he has never felt so helpless in his life. 

He can feel her gloating glee through his connection with the dagger, can feel how she enjoys cornering him.  And it only makes him feel more cornered, standing with his back against the mesh and unable to resist.  Rumplestiltskin is starting to shake, the pressure of her control only building and building.  It’s like cotton filling his head, slowing his thoughts and egging the madness on.  _Feed the madness and it feeds on you._ Concentrating is hard, even as his eyes watch the dagger fearfully and he can feel worse will come next. 

Zelena smashes the dagger against the mesh, _hard_ , and his mind collapses in pain.  Rumplestiltskin screams, his body spasming, and barely stays upright.  Agony whips through his synapses, tearing through the murky corridors of his mind, ripping into the fragile barriers he’s built between himself and utter insanity.  She doesn’t wait for him to stop screaming, and again the dagger rings against the metal mesh.  Screeching in pain—with the curse suddenly silent in his mind as pain twists at his soul—Rumplestiltskin now _wants_ the madness like he’s never wanted it before.  Perhaps going mad might spare him this pain. 

He is either not so fortunate or not so cursed; his fragile sanity holds as Zelena slams the dagger into the mesh again and again, until he’s utterly lost his ability to count how many times she’s done it between his screams.  Finally, even her control over him with the curse fractures enough to allow him to collapse, and Rumplestiltskin lands in a sobbing heap at her feet, blood trickling out of his nose and ears.  He’s shaking sickly, feeling like he’s just been tortured for weeks though Zelena never had to lay so much as a hand on him.  He just wants to curl into a ball and go mad. 

Why doesn’t he want to go mad?  It’s so very hard to remember at the moment. 

 _Feed the madness and it feeds on you._  

Zelena stands and stares at him for a long moment, pain reverberating through him and the convulsions finally slowing.  He’s still gasping for air, white lights dancing across his vision.  He’s inches from the wheel, from the sole solace he has.  _Spin the madness away?_   He’s starting to feel mad again, starting to fracture under the pressure. 

“Until next time, Rumple,” she says to his curled up and shaking form, and steps out of the cell.  Zelena turns out the light as she leaves, burying him in the darkness once more, and several long minutes pass—or is it hours?—before Rumplestiltskin starts to come back to himself. 

Why does she leave him alone so often?  Does she trust him to stay mad forever, even when she gave him a wheel to make himself sane?  Zelena is as prone to overconfidence as anyone else, and she knows she has him caged far more effectively with the dagger than this mesh construction can manage, but does she think he will do nothing?  Still, even if he escapes, she can summon him—but the mad giggle that escapes makes Rumplestiltskin wonder if he cares. 

She’s fed the madness.  Now it’s feeding on him.  Everything still hurts, even when he drags himself over to the wheel, staring at it blankly and wondering if spinning will bring sanity.  The curse is whispering in his mind again, voices wanting release, power begging for something to _burn._   If he’s not careful, it’ll burn him up inside, destroy that little sliver of soul he’s saved for himself, the one that remembers the two reasons he has to be sane.  The two reasons he has to be better than the monster. 

They’re out there, somewhere.  Zelena would not be so gleeful if she was not playing games with people here in Storybrooke, and that means Belle and Bae are out there somewhere.  He’d seen them so briefly— 

 _Don’t think about that._   Thinking on that was only a road to insanity.  Think on now.  Think of the door slightly open, and sanity that lies beyond. 

It won’t last if he runs.  It can’t.  But perhaps he can find them, warn them, warn those he loves.  Better yet, have someone else do it for him, so that Zelena can’t track him to them.  He’d sacrificed his soul for them, and he’ll do so again if he must.  If the only thing Rumplestiltskin can do of his own free will is warn Belle and Bae not to trust him, that is what he will do.

Pulling himself to his feet on the wheel, Rumplestiltskin contemplates the cage door.  There is enough room between the mesh that he can reach a hand through.  His muscles are still twitching and his mind is still reeling, but his limbs obey his commands.  _Not hers._ Her commands hurt, burn, and he hates feeling like a marionette locked in this cage, just waiting for her to come back and taunt him, hurt him, use him.  His vision is still blurry, but he steps forward, anyway.  His choices are simple, after all.  Run and be caught after a tiny bit of freedom.  Or stay and await the same fate. 

He can find them.  He _has_ to find them.   Maybe then he’ll let himself go mad again.  Or maybe he’ll truly spin the madness away, spin his soul into the gold and just let go.  Maybe a husk of a human, a vessel for the curse, is all Zelena will be left with if he tries this, but _Rumplestiltskin doesn’t care._   He needs fresh air, needs to make a choice, so he’ll run. 

She said no magic in the cage; that is a loophole when he can push his hand outside it.  It doesn’t even require a spell, just a simple application of power, one he can always manage, mad or no.  The hasp holding the lock snaps, and Rumplestiltskin steps outside the mesh walls for the first time in he does not know how long.  Magic leaps to his fingertips immediately, dark and glorious and _powerful_.  Breaking the lock on the outer door is child’s play, and he runs. 

_Feed the madness and it feeds on you._

 

 


End file.
